


moon boy

by Sakhmet



Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Angst, Falling In Love, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protectiveness, Romance, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 08:32:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18442874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sakhmet/pseuds/Sakhmet
Summary: Lucas was lost in head, in the constellations of fading stars, blackholes, and bruises that made up his past and present. Elliot changes this.





	1. Eclipse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snapshots of a bruised youth.

When he was young Lucas had painted a solar system with one too many suns and a few too many moons on his white ceiling – his father was off somewhere, drunk again. As Lucas swirled together blues and pinks and golds to create a particularly spectacular nebula, he had dreamed that he could he sleep on the ring of Saturn and be awoken to the orbital pull of Jupiter - roused to stardust and the echo of infinite, infinite space. Lucas had longed for something beyond the four corners of his quiet room that day by day felt like a prison. It was a prison of unspoken words between father and son and a cage of filial disappointment. So, Lucas traced with his small fingers the gold paint he had used for the Ursa Minor constellation that dipped into the band of stars that made up the tail of Draco… and he dreamed.

 

Lucas had a neglectful and lonely childhood; while his father was never abusive when he drunk, he was forgetful and sometimes this hurt more than any blow or bruise. Lucas would take fury over oblivion any day – better scalding emotion than cold indifference.

 

~

 

When he was seven and his father still there, not the callous stranger he knew now, Lucas had been startled by a diving crow as he climbed his treehouse, unknowingly getting too close to the nest of this fiercely protective bird. He had fallen, garnering a mild concussion and a cut on his forehead that later faded into a soft crescent scar (You’re Harry Potter 2.0! his father would later tease). All that he could remember from the incident was his father’s assured, warm hands that always smelled faintly of spearmint and tobacco. These hands patched him up, brushed away his tears and roused him throughout the night to check on his concussion. _Crows are fearless defenders of their young and will do anything to protect them from harm, often taking on much more ominous and lethal opponents –eagles, cats, humans._

 

 

 

Besides the memories of the last remnants of his father’s warmth, Lucas also remembered the pain. Looking back, this was probably the moment that he realized the hot sear of pain grounded him, that pain could became a twisted anchor that could distract and attract. Or maybe it was the moment after Lucas slammed his father’s antique schooner paperweight on his hand just so he could see purple and blue bloom like comets across his skin and feel the lingering ache for days and the bitter sense of satisfaction of governing his own hurt.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Lucas was fourteen when he thought the boy next door was pretty. Alexandre was an avid football player and recently moved with his family from Trois-Rivières to Paris for the summer as his father completed a business deal. Alexandre was tri-lingual, having a Korean-American mother and a French-Canadian father made his household into a continually ringing chorus of “Where are my shoes? Baegopeumnida! Salut!” Alexandre’s eyes were burnt sienna and Lucas thought the shade and shape of them were something that artists would revere – perhaps immortalized in the imperial portraitures, sombre brushwork and rich tones of the Dutch masters.

 

 

 

Lucas would peer through his window unobtrusively as possible in the summer to watch Alexandre and his friends play football. Lean torso, a toothy smile, a lock of sweaty hair. Lucas was enraptured.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

“Chingu!” Shingo, Shh- sh-chingo, Ch-chingu. Lucas’ francophone tongue stumbled over the new word Alexandre had taught him. That summer for Lucas meant a lot of things: learning who the Habs and the Canucks were, hating than loving kimchi, lazy afternoons spent with Alexandre playing fifa and ignoring the looming shadow that was his father at home, stargazing with one eye on the sky and one eye on the sweep of Alexandre’s eyelashes… infatuations, indecisions, torment and secrets, secrets, secrets.

 

 

 

After Alexandre left for Canada in the fall, his father having successfully completed the deal, Lucas almost felt relieved. No more disquieting thoughts, no more questioning and agonizing over what was right, what was wrong, and the what ifs. What if he reached out? What if on one of the humid summer nights they lay on the sun-scorched grass watching the comet showers Lucas had curled one fragile finger around his? What if Lucas didn’t feel so quiet and broken that he felt like the soft footfall to his father’s heavy tread? What if what if what if.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Papa I’m gay, Lucas would whisper softly to the sun-faded constellations on his ceiling before turning over and tuning out the silence with the sting of the cut on the soft skin of his wrist. Lucas took to wearing the soft strip of braided leather his mother gave him before she was taken away.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Lucas loved love. He loved the idea that two people could be bound by an indescribable, indefinable, inexplicable emotion that knew no bounds. As he grew older and watched his best friend Yann interact patiently with his younger brother, Lucas waited. When he watched Yann dance with and kiss his first girlfriend, Lucas recalculated. When Basille made light of his mother’s antics fondly, and with a soft, protective look in his eye, Lucas dreamed. When he watched Charles gently brush an errant lock from Manon’s face, Lucas yearned. When his father looked with blank, unseeing eyes upon his latest painting that had won him the school award, Lucas felt a crack. When his father mumbled something cutting about his mother and how Lucas looked like her and maybe he would turn out to be like her too, Lucas became resigned. When the first boy Lucas kissed at a house party gripped his hips too hard and then ghosted him leaving nothing but bruises around his wrists and an ache in his chest, Lucas maybe started doubting love a little.

 


	2. Waxing Crescent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, interspersed with the sunny moments were the pockets of time, silent and constricting, where anxiety and insecurity and a deep, deep, heavy sadness eclipsed his thoughts.

When it all became too much, when the insecurities and doubts dug their claws in deep, Lucas snuck into the planetarium that he worked at on the weekends. He’d sit in the domed theater, tilt his head back and watch the galaxies, black holes, meteor shows, nebulas, planets and astronomical phenomena dance above him until the only thing resounding in his brain was projections of the cosmos and the swirl of interstellar dust, hydrogen, helium, and ionized gases – the star-stuff that made up humans and all their tribulations.

 

~

 

High school was both a welcome distraction and a terrifying zone of unknown variables. He had friends he loved (even Basile with all his ridiculous antics and cringe-worthy attempts to get the love of his life Daphne to spare him a glance that wasn’t steeped in poorly concealed disdain) and he excelled in Biology and did reasonably well in other subjects (barring French Literature… Madame Bovary could suck it). But there were also that secret shame that bloomed in him every time he looked at a chiseled jawline or admired for a moment too long the downward curve of the eyelashes of the boy that sat beside him in History. There was also Alex. Alex with his cocky smile and self-assuredness that Lucas grew to envy and covet from afar. One too many drinks at a house party at Emma’s had already led to flirting and hurried kisses in a dark room cut short with the slam of a door and the fear of someone finding out. It was this same fear that led Alex to ignore his existence entirely at school except for the suggestive smile, heavy glance, or soft brush of hand on the small of Lucas’ back when he was assured there was no one else was around. Better clandestine gestures and hushed artifice than a cold shoulder and the cutting hiss of the word “faggot.”

So, interspersed with the sunny moments were the pockets of time, silent and constricting, where anxiety and insecurity and a deep, deep, heavy sadness eclipsed his thoughts. He grew resigned to feeling carefree, laughing with Yann and the boys in one moment, and feeling utterly terrified and lost in the next. The sense of being adrift with only a tenuous link to stability was only amplified each time he came home to the silence of his father or the mumbled slurs of his cries for Lucas’ mother. Lucas hated himself for being so desperate, for being so hardwired to constantly seek out love and attention when he knew all that his father and mother had to give were phantom vestiges and memories. He couldn’t help but feel frantic for reassurance, for the friendly weight of papa’s hands upon his shoulders, for a smile from his mother that for once wasn’t crooked from misplaced paranoia, or even for the false intimacy – the heavy-handed, vodka tinged caress to his face by a boy at a club who wouldn’t ask for Lucas’ name but would give Lucas the fleeting warmth he craved.

 

~

 

When the planetarium became too crowded with school students on field trips or throngs of tourists, Lucas’ next favourite thinking spot was the bench in the park with a particularly scenic view of the lake – the perfect place for people watching and getting lost in the lives of others around him. On Sunday mornings he would see the overly enthusiastic pair of middle-aged women doing their warm-ups, who without fail, gave him a cheeky wink every time they caught sight of him. He would watch the countless couples holding their coffees, faces red from the cold morning air, hands interlaced, quietly content with each other and another slow, still morning befitting of a Sunday. He would carefully watch the group of boys his age who had taken to skateboarding, smoking, and loitering at the adjacent skateboard park. They all seemed so assured, each movement careless and effortless. A friendly slap on the back, an exasperated “Putain mec!” Playful ribbing and antics. Lucas wished for such thoughtless ease.

 

~

 

His papa was getting worse. More agitated, more anxious, more alcohol addled. One night, as Lucas lay in his bed tired of homework and aimlessly counting the stars that made up Orion’s helm on his ceiling, he heard a shatter and a bellow. Lucas winced and not for the first time wished he had taken Mika’s offer to move in after getting a hint of what Lucas’ home life was like after one of Lucas’ drunken late-night sessions of philosophizing that ranged from waxing poetry over Chris Hemsworth’s face to rambling about the woes of one Lucas Lallemant. He had chosen to stay with his papa as a last-ditch attempt to take care of him and perhaps convince himself that what they had was salvageable. Now though, with the increasing number of slammed doors, broken words and empty beer bottles, Lucas wished he had taken up shelter on Mika’s hideous blue couch.

After another shatter and a large thud, Lucas internally braced himself and tentatively ventured downstairs. Unsurprisingly, red-rimmed eyes met his and slurred nonsense reached his ears. “Lucas-Lucas-Lucas. Come h-here c’mon.” His father hiccupped and lurched alarmingly forward with a portrait in his hand. Lucas drew in a sharp breath and herded his father to a couch. “Sit papa, let’s get you some water.” Hands grasped his wrist tightly and spirit-sour breath washed over him. “Look at this. Look what I found.” Lucas sighed and glanced down at the portrait in his father’s tight grasp. It was glossy photo taken when Lucas was five years old, chubby face grinning on the shoulder of his mother who was captured mid-laugh, blue eyes twinkling at his father who smiled down at her. It was taken before his mother heard voices and took delusions for reality – a snapshot of irretrievable security and unburdened happiness for both Lucas and his father. Inevitably, when his father drank too much, this framed photo found its way into his father’s grip who would either sit in stupefied silence until he passed out or he would make Lucas listen to his tearful, restless reminiscing and ramblings. Tonight, it seemed like it would be he latter.

“You have her eyes y’know? It had to be you who saw, with those eyes. I c-couldn’t do a thing to stop her or them y’know?” Lucas sighed. “It’s okay papa, let me take this and get you to bed.” Lucas moved to take the photo away, but his father, perhaps more distressed and disoriented by the torrent of memories that drinking seem to summon up with increasing poignancy, lashed out with heavy limbs. “Get away!” His clumsy hand caught Lucas hard in the cheek while he yanked the portrait hard from his grasp. Any other day Lucas wouldn’t have been deterred, would have pressed on, sobered up his dad and put him to bed – but today he lost his footing. He fell backwards hard, reaching out blindly with right hand, which just so happened to go straight through their glass coffee table. Shatter. 

 

~

 

Pain registered after a few seconds of shock. Lucas gritted his teeth as he cradled his hand to his chest. His father stood transfixed at the sight of the red welling rapidly from his hand. Teary eyed he stumbled forward, “Lucas, I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Frantic and guilt-ridden and concerned for once. Lucas inhaled deeply. 

“Shhhh, its ok papa. I’m okay, it's just a scratch. Come on, you’re tired and you drank too much again. Lets get you to bed.” 

 

~

 

Later when Lucas extracted the last bit of glass embedded in his skin, sloppily bandaged up his hand as best as he could with some strips of clothes that worked passably as a bandage, and swept up the shards of glass in the living rooms, pretending that they didn’t resemble how he felt to the bone – broken – he allowed himself to cry quietly. Sobbing quietly in a home that felt foreign for to him, over a father that he loved but couldn’t quite reach, Lucas felt suffocated. With a body that felt disconnected from his mind, he abruptly got up, stumbled into his shoes and slipped out quietly into the night. 

 

~

 

Lucas walked the streets numbly, eyes still blurring with tears, cheek still smarting from his father’s blow, and breath rapid, verging on panicked. Nearing midnight on a weekday, the streets were empty and cold. Lucas knew he should feel the chill of the autumn air, having run out in a thin, tatty shirt stolen from Yann, but all he could feel was the searing pain radiating from his hand and the warm trickle of tears that obscured his vision and turned the street lamps into orange, hazy halos of light.

Lucas eventually found himself at the park bench overlooking the lake, unconsciously seeking out his Sunday spot of solace. He sat with a weary huff and hugged his knees to chest. His right hand throbbed and wrists were sore, his dad’s tight grip had aggravated some of the old bruises there. To top it all off, his heart kept up a staccato rhythm in his chest to the beat of his anxiety. Fuck, Lucas swore under his breath and dug his nails hard into the palms of his hands. He tipped his head back and measured his breaths. He looked at the night sky and imagined that through the light pollution of Paris that made all the stars fade into a haze of indecipherable pinpoints, there lay another universe where another Lucas sat under the night sky, beneath a full moon as he traced luminous constellations with his eyes – warm, happy and loved. This Lucas was maybe with his father, stargazing after celebrating his acceptance into the Conservatoire de Paris. Or maybe this Lucas was surrounded by all his friends, rowdy and buzzed as they sang songs and danced and did all the stupid, meaningless, but joyful things people his age do. Or maybe this Lucas was with another boy, their hands entangled and their breaths mingled as their lips touched softly beneath an indigo, star-shot canvas of a sky. 

 

“What are you thinking of?”

Lucas started up in alarm and turned to meet blue, blue eyes


	3. New Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucas meets a mysterious boy with glacial eyes and gentle hands. Said boy is also a cereal-eater who watches too much Game of Thrones.

As with most pivotal moments in our lives, we can recall a texture, an emotion, a smell, a color, a sound, an action that is vivid and palpable – a detail impervious to the passage of time that will immediately stir within us everything that made one instant a lifetime. Years later, when Lucas recollects the second he met the boy’s eyes he would recall music.

~

Once there was a time Lucas thrived and lived in music. He had learned to play piano before he knew all the names of the planets in the solar system; under his mother’s guidance, he would coax music from ivory and black keys to the tick of her metronome every evening. 

He had listened to the deluge of yearning and loss in Mozart’s _Lacrimosa_ and the gentle, pensive dance of notes that was Erik Satie’ _Gymnopédies_. He had also listened to the avante garde and the modern – the melancholic cycle of life and death found in the strains of Max Richter’s _On the Nature of Daylight_ , and the romance of new beginnings found in the playful notes of Yiruma’s _Maybe_. Before it became another painful reminder of his mother, music for Lucas meant arpeggios and sonatas and concertos and sore fingers and blissful, sweet immersion. 

____

So when Lucas’ met the gaze of the boy the first thing that Lucas thought of was _ritenuto_ – a sudden reduction of speed. A moment when the throbbing in his hands, the ache in his heart, the guilt and doubt, and the million thoughts slowed and faded into the calm, boreal blue of the boy’s irises. _Ritenuto_. The tempest slowing to a calm. 

Lucas would remember the silent, _ritenuto_ of his heartbeat and remember the paradox of those blue eyes. They were arctic blue, chips of polar ice, but exuding such warmth, such barely restrained expressivity and ardor. These were eyes to fall in love with. 

 

~

 

In all of this, in these split seconds of revelations, Lucas nearly missed the boy’s voice. “I didn't mean to scare you, but you were just sitting there looking like you were having an epiphany or maybe some sort of vision. I had to ask… and I swear I’m not a creep. I usually come here for smoke and I was on my way back from buying milk from the convenience store. I have the proof.” True to his word the boy enthusiastically waved around a carton of milk from his seat beside Lucas. 

The boy’s eagerness should have been off-putting for the emotionally drained and withdrawn Lucas, but his kindness was a balm to his raw feelings. Lucas also couldn’t keep his eyes off the soft laugh lines at the corners of the boy’s eyes or the windswept mess of brown hair that Lucas wondered was as soft as it looked.

“What do you need milk for at this time of night?” Lucas asked incredulously. 

The beautiful boy laughed. “Midnight cereal… You know when you’re at the point of not feeling hungry but still kind of like you could do with something? Well the best fix is a big bowl of French Toast Crunch cereal.”

Lucas scoffed, “Great, I’ve been approached by a cereal-loving serial killer in a park at night. You’re not doing a great job of appeasing me.”

The boy smiled, “I swear I’m not a serial killer, just a concerned citizen wanting to make sure you don’t burn holes in the sky with your eyes. Just making sure you’re not secretly Cyclops” The boy’s eyes warmed and his tone grew more serious, “Really though, are you alright? You're not scared of the dark are you? You just looked so… so… I don’t know, lost sitting here alone?” 

Lucas coughed nervously and tried to deflect, “I’m okay, just thought I would take a breather… biology tests and history papers and whatnot. I often come to this park to clear my mind. Not every night do I meet some overly concerned, milk-toting stranger though.” 

The boy smiled sadly. Slowly, as if not to startle him, the boy reached out carefully and touched his cheek. “You’re bleeding a bit here,” he said softly. The boy’s hand radiated heat, reminding Lucas of how cold he was.

Lucas had forgotten his dad’s ring had caught him high in the cheekbone. He blurted out some slipshod excuse that he knew was shit as soon as it slipped out of his mouth. “I’m a klutz! The reason I was staring so hard at the sky was because I have astigmatism. I walked into a stop sign on the way here.”

The boy looked one blink away from rolling his eyes. “Rrrright,” the boy said skeptically. “Well, maybe you should start wearing glasses, wouldn't want you banging up your pretty face anymore, would we?” 

Lucas blushed instantly and died internally.  
“I’m not pretty,” he mumbled to himself embarrassedly. The boy scoffed. “Rrrright, maybe you should invest in a mirror too.” Before Lucas could do so much as protest, the strange boy had taken off his ochre colored jacket and draped it over his shoulders.

“Maybe you should also buy a heater while you’re at it; you’re shivering and your lips are one shade away from attaining White Walker status.” 

Lucas wrinkled his nose, “A White Walker? What’s that?” 

The boy gasped, “What?! You wound me. Here I thought Game of Thrones was a universal gateway into guaranteed friendship and everything good. Well I guess I can call you Khaleesi now and you would have no idea if I’m insulting or complimenting you.” He arched an eyebrow.

Lucas was feeling hare-brained and overwhelmed. Exhausted, cold, and still feeling the emotional whiplash of the night’s events, he was half convinced that the ridiculously beautiful boy beside him was some sleep-deprived conjuring of his imagination. He couldn’t help but smile at the boy’s humor and candor though. 

“My name is Eliott by the way.” Another gentle hand interrupted his musings, as it brushed the skin beneath his eye, thumbing what he realized were his dried tear tracks – inconvenient evidence of his vulnerability. “I hope you don’t have reason to cry anymore. You should smile more, I’m pretty sure if you smiled like that you could rule the Seven Kingdoms and sit on the Iron Throne instantly.” 

Lucas rolled his eyes, “I don't know what gibberish it is you’re spouting Eliott.” 

After a beat, “Eliott.” Lucas savored his name again. “My name is Lucas.” 

The smile that grew across Eliott’s face was radiant. “Lucas, pleased to meet you and I apologize for interrupting your nocturnal musings.”  
Eliott pulled out a joint and gestured, “You look you could relax.”

 

~

 

Inhaling and exhaling deeply, with the haze and smoke of the weed swirling around them in the cold air, Lucas felt the tension within him easing with each hit he took. As both boys fell silent in mutual companionship, Lucas appreciated Eliott’s slim fingers that expertly rolled the joint, his tousled hair, his long eyelashes, his lips lit by the glow of the joint, his beauty, his magnetism. Him, him, him. 

Was it possible to feel so compelled and drawn, like a moth to a flame, to a complete stranger so quickly and yet so instinctively?

Lucas was too busy focusing on the boy beside him that he missed Eliott’s own silent appraisal of himself. “Just when I thought that the only thing marring your fair face was that cut and the truly spectacular shiner that is sure to come through, I catch sight of this.” Eliott gestured to his swollen, sloppily bandaged mess that what his right hand. 

Lucas chuckled nervously, “Would you believe me if I said that after I walked into the stop sign a feral cat scratched my hand and I bandaged it best I could after fending off the vengeful feline beast? ” 

Eliott snorted at Lucas’ spectacular bullshitting. “You’re a walking poster boy for trouble aren’t you?” Amidst his light tone, Eliott’s eyes hadn't lost their avid concern. “You need to be more careful, Lucas… I hope you steer clear of whatever is causing you bodily harm, be it an evil cat or not.” Eliott’s icy blue eyes heatedly held Lucas’ steel blue ones. Lucas swallowed. “I will,” he uttered softly. 

Piano music filled the air, jolting Lucas with its familiarity. _Over There, It’s Raining _, Nils Frahm.  
“Shit, it’s my phone. I gotta run, my flatmate is relying on me for the cereal and he’s probably going to be nuclear soon without his dose of lactose and sugar. Keep the jacket, I run warm and you look like you’re still frozen, and not the good sort of “let it go,” liberating Frozen, more like the hypothermic kind. I have a feeling we will be running into each other soon. You can pass it to me when you see me next.” __

__Eliott carefully (everything he did around Lucas thus far seemed to be so careful, so calculated, so meticulously controlled like he was porcelain) brushed an errant lock of hair from Lucas’ face. “Bye Lucas,” he whispered softly and almost wistfully._ _

__That was Lucas’ introduction to Eliott. A whirlwind of humor and frenetic energy tempered by ocean eyes and an unfathomable warmth that consumed Lucas, bringing the crescendo of Lucas’ fears to a _ritenuto _– lightening the shadow in his mind and heart, slowing his rabbit pulse and clamorous thoughts to stillness.___ _

____ _ _

____~_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Later when Lucas returned home he checked in to see his dad sleeping peacefully and then crawled into bed with Eliott’s jacket wrapped snugly around him. He brought the collar to his nose and breathed deeply._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____He fell asleep to the comforting smell of bergamot and violet leaves and cedar, and with thoughts of a strange, kind, funny, and mysterious boy with a penchant for pop-culture references._ _ _ _

____Lucas had the best sleep he had in years._ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much of what is in this chapter will be crucial to the future (#foreshadowing)   
> This is my first fic I ever written, so I hope you like it... and please comment and let me know what you think :) <3


	4. Waning Crescent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There’s a new kid who transferred over mid-semester and, I swear Lucas, he looks like the love child of Edward Cullen and a Greek god"

Lucas was late.

He had slept through all three of his alarms and was currently running pell-mell, a hastily brewed coffee sloshing in one hand, to his Biology class for his lab on cell division. Caffeine was going to be his lord and savior today – that is if Imane decided not to murder him for potentially derailing a lab worth enough marks to drag himself from his half-formed dreams of blue eyes.

His brain still in snooze mode, foggy and half pre-occupied with figuring out if Eliott had been some figment of his crazed imagination, Lucas made it in the nick of time as Madame Dubois called his name off the attendance list.

~

“Boy if you were any later, I was going to hold your notes for last class hostage… and what’s with the whole half-dead, angsty artist look going on? I expect you to bring you A-game lab partner.” Imane’s voice was sarcastic but her eyes gave away her concern as Lucas slid into the seat beside her.  
“What happened to your hand! Did you finally decide to punch out Mika for stealing your sense of humour? Or are you a part of some underground fight club for the vertically challenged that I’m unaware of?”

Lucas groaned, “I ran into a stop sign and then because I was disoriented, I ran into a demonic cat that decided my hand was its new scratch post. AND for the LAST time I am not vertically challenged, I am of the average height of the average male specimen in France.” Imane rolled her eyes.  
“Maybe if the average male specimen in France is a hobbit. You’re such an idiot Lucas,” she said fondly. “Seriously though, if I see any more bruises or bodily injury on you in the next week the girls and I are going to be your security detail.”

She eyed him closer and Lucas prayed she wouldn’t pry anymore; he was truly terribly at lying and his carefully constructed veneer of nonchalance and “I’m fine” always felt particularly thin around Imane’s hawk eyes and brusque but perceptive manner. She had always been extra protective of Lucas and treated him like an annoying albeit lovable little brother. Maybe it was catching sight one day of the bruises that mottled his wrists after a despondent swell of loneliness had precipitated the need to ground himself in pain softened her to him. Whatever the case, she always kept a watchful eye on him and for that Lucas was half-grateful, half-afraid.

Imane smiled knowingly. “Nice jacket by the way. It looks a tad big on your hobbit-sized frame. Is it Yann’s? You guys are like girls, raiding each other’s closets every other day. Not even Manon and I are quite at your level.”

Lucas started, he had forgotten in his morning rush that he had worn Elliot’s jacket to bed and had run straight out the door in it. He unconsciously burrowed deeper into its folds and curled his hands into the overly long sleeves. “Yea it’s Yann’s, I digged the color and he still hasn’t given me back my scarf he stole from me last time, so I took this as collateral damage.”

Lucas lied, wondering how many lies he would continue to string messily together this week. Lately, he himself couldn’t readily distinguish his fabrications from the strands of truth. Deception was a comforting yet fickle thing. 

Luckily, Imane seemed to buy it and they both turned towards the lab and the building blocks of life – to the matters of mitosis and genetic reproduction and how parental cells always pass a piece of themselves to their offspring.  
_Crazy begets crazy_

 

~

 

As he sat in French Lit listening to his teacher drone on about Proust and his search for lost time – “ _Remembrance of things past is not necessarily the remembrance of things as they were_ ….” – Lucas painstakingly went over the minutiae of his meeting with Eliott. The way his arctic eyes narrowed in on him and made him feel important, the way his lips pursed and smiled and kept their secrets, how the smoke from their joint wreathed his face, making it akin to those deities immortalized in marble and fringed with incense smoke – how Lucas regretted not being bolder or more interesting, how Lucas wondered how on earth he would see the beautifully strange boy again.

A vicious jab to his side broke his musings over Eliott’s cereal preferences. “Pssst. Lucas. You’re helping with the foyer right?” Daphne Lecomte was the proverbial thorn in his side when it came to the recruiting of his so-called “artistic-sensibilities” to liven up the foyer. Daphne was officially on a mission to wrangle him into her “Student Body Revitalization Project,” AKA “Make the Foyer into a Space That Students from All Four Corners of Clique-dom Could Enjoy.”  
“I know you are an ace with a paint brush and don’t think I don’t know you were a former piano prodigy Lucas Lallement. All I’m saying is that if you help out and play on our music talent nights, Imane and I will contribute to your Purchase a Pooch fund.

Lucas gritted his teeth. Once he had accidentally let slip he’d been saving up for a puppy (Lucas always though a dog would help calm his dad and keep him company on the lonely nights) the girls had been using it as leverage to get whatever they wanted from him. “Come on Lucas, all you have to do is help paint the mural and play a tune when we hold our talent shows.”

“Daphy is it even a real talent show when you’re coercing and bribing half the student population into performing?” Daphne smiled sweetly. “If you also manage to bring Yann and Arthur and… (she paused and wrinkled her nose distastefully) and I suppose that cretin Basile, I will help you on your essay on Madame Bovary. I know you’re about one paper away from failing that course.”  
Lucas sighed. “Deal.”

“By the way, we’re meeting this Friday after school to begin planning the design for the mural. I expect you and your gang to be there… even the new transfer student is coming.” Daphne sighed dreamily.

It was Lucas’ turn to wrinkle his nose. “Girl what’s with that lovestruck, constipated look you have going on.” Daphne pinched him, “If Imane hadn’t already warned me you were a walking bruise today because apparently you can’t defend yourself against a poor cat, I’d whack you. Didn’t you hear the news? There’s a new kid who transferred over mid-semester and, I swear Lucas, he looks like the love child of Edward Cullen and a Greek god.”

Used to Daphne’s dramatics, Lucas rolled his eyes, “The last guy you thought was hot looked like the poor-man’s version of that blonde guy from How I Met Your Mother. Even Baz looked like Tom Cruise next to him.”

Before Daphne could pinch him again the teacher’s stern voice rang out.  
“Lucas and Daphne, are you quite finished? Would you like to tell the class what you think about the progression of memory elicited from the olfactory senses and the relativity of time?”

Lucas winced. It was going to be a long day.

 

~

 

By the end of the day Lucas’ energy was flagging and his mind drifted aimlessly in his classes, flitting from the dull pain radiating from his hand to the weight of loss in his father’s eyes to the pile of homework that awaited him when he got home. Yann had already taken pity on him and let him unobtrusively as possible nap on his shoulder at the back of mathematics as he took notes for Lucas.

Most days though, Lucas secretively appreciated the heavy weight of exhaustion at the back of his mind that steeped all his thoughts in molasses and slowed the twisting emptiness in his chest as fatigue cancelled out all extraneous thoughts. So if he purposely stayed up, scribbling half-remembered music compositions in his notebook or penning letters to Alexandre who still wrote to him every month, it was worth the soft mauve rings hollowed beneath his tired eyes. Drowning out and distracting from the worst, immediate pain was his forte.

 

~

The last class had finished, and after staying behind to talk to the teacher about an extra credit assignment (Daphne wasn’t exaggerating, Lucas was bound to fail French lit if he wasn’t bolstered by extra credit and her help), Lucas trudged to his locker with nothing on his mind but curling up in bed (most definitely with Eliott’s jacket again).

“Hey Lucas!” a voice called. It was Alex.

Unsurprisingly, when Lucas turned and surveyed the hallway it was empty, the floods of students having escaped as soon as the bell rang to the crisp Autumn air of the outside world that offered respite from useless mathematical equations and stodgy old French novels.

Alex sauntered over and gave Lucas one of those smiles, a smile rife with suggestion and heady, heady promise. “I haven’t seen you around much these days Lucas ( _Only because you avoid me when there’s eyes to witness you_ ) I’ve missed you ( _Only when you’re taking a break from Emma_ ).”  
“I’ve been busy with school and work you know… and whatever Daphne is getting me to do to help out with the foyer.”

Alex stepped distractingly closer. “That’s right I forgot.” He ruffled Lucas’ mess of hair fondly. “Still star-gazing in the planetarium with your head in the clouds moon boy? Well you should take a break and come to Mikael’s party this Friday night. You can bring Yann and your friends as well. It will be fun.”

 

_Fun meant a quick hook-up and stumbling home drunk with the warmth of Alex’s embrace rapidly fading and freezing to dejection as he lay alone in bed listening to his father’s mumblings._

 

“Hey you alright?” Alex said abruptly as he brushed the hair from Lucas’ eyes and thumbed the magenta flower that bloomed from his cheekbone. “That looks like it hurt.”

“I’m fine,” Lucas said curtly, always a cocktail of shyness and subdued emotion around Alex. Arrogance paired with confidence intimidated him, reminding him of what he was not. He pulled the sleeves of Eliott’s jacket over his fingers to make jacket paws and smiled through his eyelashes at Alex. “And yes, count me in for Friday.” Alex smiled back, eyes crinkling, _god he was handsome_ , and playfully chucked him under the chin. 

Heavy footsteps and boisterous voices burst Lucas’ pipe dream bubble. 

Alex abruptly pushed him away and Lucas tripped over his feet. Alex’s friends, whom Lucas nicknamed Lug 1 and Lug 2, (the painfully stereotypical high school jocks with nothing on their minds but girls, weed and conforming to a particularly disgusting brand of macho, toxic masculinity) strolled over. Alex turned to them with an easy, cool smile, dismissing Lucas as sharply and coldly as the spread of a malicious rumor. 

Lucas’ smile faded.

“Alex lets go, the game is about to start and we’re pre-drinking at Chloe’s house. What are you doing with Loony Lucas?” 

To his credit, although Alex never defended him, he always placidly diverted any attention away. “Nothing, he’s helping me with the Bio lab. Let’s go.” Complete dismissal.

They left and Lucas carefully retrieved his stuff from his locker, closing it with a quiet click. He walked home alone, following the cracks in the pavement and feeling infinitely hollow. 

 

~

 

Lucas curled in bed with Elliot’s jacket, hot tears and ragged feelings making the world into a blurry mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slowly introducing more characters...Eliott will make his appearance soon :) 
> 
> I also hope everyone has a lovely Easter weekend and break from work/school/exams/life <3  
> And if you'd like to check out my Skam fanart, you can do so here: https://www.instagram.com/ink_lings_/


	5. Interlude ~ Glissando ~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was excruciatingly beautiful and Eliott was caught.

For Eliott the good Sundays, the ones not rendered stagnant by debilitating apathy and lethargy, meant sleeping in, bitter hot coffee, ink stained fingertips, endless doodles of his favorite masked mammal, skateboarding and loitering in the park with Mikael and Idriss – timeworn habits. 

The good Sundays also meant him. 

 

~

 

It was inevitable. As Eliott and his friends enjoyed the sun, smoking, laughing, and enjoying the freedom of a day of doing nothing, Eliott’s wandering gaze would eventually alight upon a boy.

The boy always sat in the same bench adjacent to the skateboard park. He sat quietly, unobtrusively and unremarkably. He always came on the mornings that were clear and crisp, sometimes with a coffee in hand, sometimes with a crumbling pastry, and always alone. 

What caught Eliott’s eye, more than anything, was the pensive and searching look in the boy’s blue-gray eyes – the tinge of haunted sadness and hurt. The boy, who he dubbed “sad boy” sat and observed the world with eyes that seemed preternaturally lucid and luminous, like full moons. Eliott also noticed the dark circles and dark smudges of bruises here and there. He noticed the tired eyes and the small, stooped frame of someone whose fatigued reached bone deep. Eliott noticed all of this, all of the details, and craved for more. 

 

~

 

One day, Eliott made contact. It was a humid summer’s morning. He and his friends had started up a particularly rowdy game of football that consisted of more horsing around and tackling than it did kicking the ball and scoring goals. 

As Eliott went to intercept a viciously kicked pass from Idriss to Sofiane, he ran hard and fast, and collided with a shorter, compact body. The sad boy. 

In the infinitesimal moment following the impact of Eliott’s shoulder with the sad boy’s arm, Elliot felt a frisson of dizzying clarity and the indefinable pull towards someone he did not know but wanted to know deeply and all at once. The sort of moment found in cliché movies and teen novels that he scoffed at and derided for its ludicrous serendipity and formulaic progression. He heard the boy mumble “desole,” not making eye contact as he rushed on, as if the boy’s mind was already caught and lost in the worries of the next destination. 

Eliott’s noticed that up close, the sad boy’s eyes were steel blue and deep – stormy pieces of a sky. His hair was an impressive, untamable mess and a fading bruise was a latticework of blue and yellow against a cheekbone. He was excruciatingly beautiful and Eliott was caught. 

 

~

 

So every good, sunlight Sunday, Eliott would go to the park, laugh and joke with his friends with the taste of coffee on his lips and the fragile happiness of going through an ordinary day in his lungs. The boy who he dubbed the “sad boy” sat and Eliott would watch and wonder in stops and starts, bits and pieces. 

What or who put that look in his eyes? What sort of movies did he like? What was his favorite band? What was he looking for when he surveyed the park? Where did he go after he left the park? Did he also feel the sort of sadness that blindsided you, stole the breath from your lungs and left you with curled up in bed with blank, vacant eyes? Did he believe in love at first sight?

Eliott wanted to know this and more, wanted to know what caused the constellation of new and fading marks on his arms, wanted them to go away. 

 

~

 

Every good, sunlight Sunday, Eliott would go to the park to feel the pangs of longing and affection and wonder for a boy with stormy eyes and too many bruises. 

 

 _Glissando_ – to glide, to sweep effortlessly between the highs and lows. Elation to Sorrow. Allegro to Adagio. Manic to Depressive. 

 

Fear to Hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments always appreciated <3


	6. Last Quarter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucas also felt the casual brush of cold fingers at the nape of his neck every time Alex feigned a stretch – like a hasty, clumsy kiss given only as a reminder of physical connection, never love.

By Friday Lucas was on edge.

He was having those presentient feelings everyone gets from time to time – gut feelings of restlessness and unease foreboding of something undefinable, something big.

He had spent the rest of the week alternating between a certain HBO series, immersing himself in a world of backstabbing and scheming kings and queens, and the library where he whiled away hours in a musty alcove. He was half-heartedly writing an essay on the torments of Emma in  _Madame Bovary_ , accompanied by Daphne who gave him mini chocolate bars and pep talks when he was a breath away from ripping his copy of the novel to shreds and then setting it aflame.

He ate at the cafeteria with Arthur, Yann and Basile, listening with one ear to the gossip still swirling around the new transfer student he had yet to see, and the other tuned into the drone of the boys’ usual comments about girls, girls, girls.  

He listened patiently to Imane’s digs at his height and teased her endlessly after catching sight of her liking a photo of Sofiane on Instagram.  

He had caught glimpses of Alex in the hallways and distracted himself from the sharp, aching tugs on his heart with three lines of red on the side of his uninjured wrist. A twisted, satisfactory symmetry of pain created with a thin blade pilfered from his father’s workshop.

Routine and familiar, yet there was still that heavy feeling in his stomach.

 

~

 

His father, probably due to guilt and the resurgence of paternal duty that arose in fleeting moments of sobriety, was also acting uncharacteristically sheepish and indulgent. He had even made breakfast for Lucas when he trudged, half-asleep, to the kitchen on Friday morning. They had yet to have a real discussion beyond mumbled apologies and careful small talk, and sometimes these small gestures of peacemaking – breakfast, a new pair of shoes, a worn book on astronomy picked up at flea market – hurt more than anything when he knew they were mere crumbs.

Lucas yawned and rubbed his bleary eyes. As he and his father sat in heavy silence sipping lukewarm coffee and nibbling on blackened toast that they both pretended was palatable, he noticed his father’s gaze flicker to his still bandaged, healing hand. His father tentatively cleared his throat.

“So… your mother is having a bad time at the moment … I think you should come with me next time I go to visit her. It might help with… with the situation.”

Lucas swallowed hard, “I’m okay.”

  _red against white sheets, cries, fear, cold hands_

_phantom pain._

“Lucas, please. I’m not asking much from you. You haven’t seen her in nearly a year now.”

“I said I’m okay – and you never ask much from me, what’s new.”

“Lucas, please –”

“Sorry I got to go – I can’t afford to be late again for Bio.”

“Lucas—”

Lucas swallowed his hurt, avoided his father’s guilty eyes and walked out the door with half-remembered nightmares replaying in his mind.  

 

~

 

Lucas wanted to be alone. He carefully evaded his friends and kept his head down in class, tuning everything out. As he fingered the edge of the bandage on his hand that was beginning to fray, he replayed over and over again the sad look in his father’s eyes and tried not to feel resentful. However, Lucas’ attempts at being invisible for the day were foiled when Daphne and Imane cornered him as he made his way out of his second class of the day.

“Well, well, well. Lulu lets see that paper. Oh, what’s that, a passing grade?! Time to pay up. Remember if you want your puppy you have to come help out with the foyer at lunch.”

“And remember to bring your bitches,” Imane said gleefully.

Lucas groaned and texted the boys with the promise of hot girls and free food.

 

~

 

 By the time lunch came, still smarting from his morning’s conversation with his father, hungry and tired, Lucas had reached a new level of grumpy.

“Give me your chocolate bar,” whined Lucas pitifully as he made grabby hands at Yann as they sat waiting for more people to arrive.

“Lucas you’re like a chocolate gremlin, you already ate mine and I saw you eat that entire bag that Daphne gave you this morning!” Arthur exclaimed in disbelief.

“You don’t understand,” Lucas said as he tried to give his most pathetic, endearing look to Yann, “I need the energy if I am to survive this torture session and emerge out of it semi-conscious.”

A well-timed smack to his butt had him yelping embarrassingly in surprise.

“WHAT were you saying hobbit? Nothing to discredit the good of the foyer I hope?” Imane grinned at him and then stole Yann’s chocolate bar, munching it vindictively in Lucas’ face. Lucas flopped despondently onto Yann’s lap and sobbed internally.

 

~

 

By the time Daphne arrived with Alexia and Emma in tow, Lucas’ blood sugar was low, and a rag-tag group of students has assembled, no doubt half of them coerced or bribed to come by Daphne and Imane. To his utmost surprise, Alex was also there.

Alex shot him a smirk as he caught sight of Lucas and sauntered up to him and friends. “Hey guys. Did Imane threaten to kick you in the shins if you didn’t turn up?”

Basille groaned. “No Lucas promised us there would be pretty girls and free food if we showed up. I see neither.” He perked up as Daphne brushed past. “Nevermind!”

As Yann, Arthur and Basille began to bicker over whether or not Daphne had winked at Basille, Alex nudged Lucas softly. “So you coming to the party tonight?”

“Why so you can ignore me?” Lucas scoffed quietly back. Alex daringly stepped closer and brushed a discreet finger down Lucas’ hand gently, placatingly. “Don’t be like that. You should come: it’s a Friday night, I know for a fact you have nothing better to do and that you would rather be out than at home with your dad. Bring your friends, it will be fun.” Lucas winced. Alex had gotten a whiff of his homelife after Lucas’ dad had stumbled drunk home, nearly catching Lucas and Alex making out on the couch – heated, frantic kisses traded instead of the algebra homework they were supposed to be working on together. Ever since then, Alex always knew which pressure points and buttons to push to get what he wanted from Lucas. When he looked up at Alex’s earnest eyes, Lucas knew his resolve would always be weak when it came to him. “I’ll think about it Alex.” Alex smiled as if he already knew Lucas had conceded and opened his mouth, probably to say more shallow sweet nothings, when Lucas felt a tug on his sleeve.

Lucas turned, irritated, expecting Arthur or Basille.

 

 

 “I see you like my jacket.”

 

 

Blue eyes met his and Lucas was helpless to the warmth that immediately spread across his cheeks as he stared back, tongue-tied and with a small wisp of pleasure growing in his chest.

“Eliott! You came!” Lucas heard Daphne nearly shriek in delight. Eliott smiled, “Of course! Wouldn’t miss the opportunity to meet new people.” He turned his gaze towards Lucas and smiled meaningfully. “Hi Lucas.”

Before Lucas could respond, a heavy, possessive arm was slung around his shoulders. “I see you met Elliot already, the new transfer student. Look, even he is coming to the party tonight, you have to come!”

For a brief moment Lucas saw Eliott’s eyes narrow at Alex, a steely glint to them, before they warmed as they rested upon Lucas’ face. “Yes, Alex so kindly invited me. As the new kid at school he thought it would be a good opportunity to get to know everyone. You should come, I’d love to see you there Lucas. I can tell you more about my favorite midnight cereal preferences.”

 

 Lucas laughed, ignoring the subtle tightening of Alex’s arm, his muscles sudden taut at the base of Lucas’ neck. Lucas was long used to Alex’s juvenile bouts of possessiveness that arose unexpectedly and fleetingly.

 

Lucas just hoped no one else read too much into the traitorous blush on cheeks that was laying bare his besottedness with the funny, strange boy in front of him. He couldn’t help it though. Eliott had the uncanny ability of making Lucas feel like he was the only person in the room when he was talking to him – his eyes did not stray from Lucas face and he always seemed to lean imperceptibly towards Lucas… orbiting and revolving around him like one of the seventy nine burnished, silver-spattered moons of Jupiter. Lucas, naturally, was flustered under such blatant, concerted attention.

“A party! Will Daphne be there?!” Basille interjected excitedly. Alex answered with a grin “Yea man, for sure.”

Arthur cheered as he narrowly missed being smacked in the face by a flailing, enthusiastic Basille. “Yes! I’m the perfect wingman. Lets do it!”

Alex smiled victoriously; his eyes wickedly sharp. “Well I guess that settles it Lucas, you and the guys are coming.”

 

Lucas groaned, shrugging Alex’s arm off but smiled up at Eliott. He couldn’t believe how unfairly beautiful Eliott was – just as dreamy and handsome under the harsh fluorescent lights of the foyer as he was under a dim, frosty night sky – God he was sounding more and more like those giddy, lovestruck teens in the cliché rom-coms that Basille secretly liked to watch when he thought no one was looking. He unconsciously started to pull up the collar of his jacket to inhale the warm spicy scent that he had familiarized himself with throughout the week.  

 “Oh! Here Eliott, before I forget you should take your jacket back.” Lucas started to awkwardly (and reluctantly) fumble off the tawny jacket that still carried the impress of Eliott– the fragrance of cedar and cinnamon.

 

Eliott raised his eyebrows roguishly and  _winked_ at Lucas. “Keep it. You can give it to me when I see you tonight. Collateral so that I can be assured of seeing you.” Lucas looked shyly to the ground before he heard the demanding tones of Daphne and Imane calling for everyone’s attention.

 “Yes, I guess I’ll see you there.” As Daphne started herding everyone to their seats to begin her fervent “For the Good of the Foyer Speech,” Lucas grabbed Eliott’s sleeve.

 

“By the way, Joffrey is a little shit.”

Eliott grinned.  “Wait to you meet Ramsay”

 

 

~

 

 

Daphne’s harebrained plans for the foyer included a repainting of the truly hideous mural that was a neon eyesore to all who entered,  and a talent show night to fundraise money to install Wi-Fi and to purchase a pink divan that Daphne was dead set on getting to liven up the “drab” and “depressing” room.

To Lucas’ alarm, Imane had “volunteered” Lucas to help re-paint the mural and to show off his hidden piano skills at the talent night. Eliott’s eyes had immediately lit up with interest as Imane announced to everyone that Lucas was a musical prodigy. Lucas hid his face in his hands with embarrassment and a quiet groan. He hated being the center of attention. The only saving grace was that Eliott had willingly volunteered, unlike Lucas, to help re-paint the mural.

Throughout the meeting, Lucas had felt the heavy weight of Alex’s stare every time Elliot beamed his mega-watt smile at Lucas or threw friendly banter at him. Lucas also felt the casual brush of cold fingers at the nape of his neck every time Alex feigned a stretch – like a hasty, clumsy kiss given only as a reminder of physical connection, never love.

 

 

~

 

 

Lucas threw on Eliott’s jacket atop his ripped, black jeans and soft, oversized burgundy button down that Lucas knew brought out the blue in his eyes.  He swept back his unruly hair as best as he could and surveyed himself in the mirror.

He had tried to put in some effort into how he looked, a little voice at the back of his mind reminding him that he should try to look passable enough to hold Eliott’s attention – an insidious voice feeding on the well of insecurities within him…  _Was he attractive enough?_

Lucas looked tired… he was tired. His eyes stared out from the dark hollows of sleepless, anxiety-riddled nights and he had lost weight – his dad’s lack of culinary skills  combined with the general loss of appetite had led to gaunt cheeks. Lucas sighed. He tried smiling but it came out strained. Whatever. The promise of seeing Eliott was enough for Lucas to venture out – even if he did look like a tired, overworked mess.

As Lucas absentmindedly texted Arthur back that he’d meet him at his house before walking to Mikael’s house together, he heard the clink of a bottle.

 

Lucas steeled himself.

 

“Hey Papa, I’m going out tonight to a party with some friends... so don't worry... I probably won’t be back until very late. Will you be ok? I’ve left some food on the stove for you.” His father didn’t even look up from the television screen. He sipped his beer and gave a non-committal shrug, his eyes glazed and mind far, far away.

 

Lucas exhaled shakily. Annoyingly, he felt the hot pinpricks of tears brimming in his eyes, stinging. He angrily swiped his hand across his face and grabbed his keys before leaving his empty father. He’s been given, recently, to this tendency – to cry at the slightest provocation. He doesn’t know why. He’s not that scared or sad all the time. Or is he?

 

 

Lately, he just feels numb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to a reader's lovely comment that made me want to post another chapter. There will be more angst, but also more Eliott and comfort coming soon :)


	7. Waning Gibbous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There could be parallel universes out there too… when I come out here to look at the stars, I imagine that millions and millions of light years away there are other alternate worlds similar to mine but different. In them there are countless of Lucas'."

Pillars of Creation.

 

When Lucas was seven, he used to flip through the glossy pages of the picture books on space his father got him, his father’s hands patiently tracing with Lucas the pathway of stars and planets and moons their rambling fingers decided to take. One particular picture always fascinated Lucas who would demand that his father read over and over again the small description that accompanied it – even though he couldn’t understand most of the big words. His father would smile indulging though, adjusting Lucas on his lap:

_Some 6500 -7000 light years from earth, located in the Eagle Nebula between the Serpens and Sagittarius constellations, lie the Pillars of Creation. Captured in 1995 by the Hubble Space Telescope, the celestial beauty of these pillars contains a paradox. The pillars are elephant trunks of interstellar gas and dust that are stellar nurseries, in the process of creating new stars. Yet, at the same time birth is met with death – the pillars are being destroyed and eroded by the light from nearby stars that have recently formed._

 At the planetarium he worked at there was an exhibit dedicated to the Pillar of Creation. Lucas would sometimes stare at the glowing displays of the flowering, luminescent trunks of star-stuff and wonder how such paradoxes could exist. How creation and destruction could be balanced on a knife point – how something as radiant and beautiful as a star could cause its own kin’s destruction – how sometimes we are the own creators and destroyers of our lives.

 

 

~

 

 

Lucas inhaled deeply, letting the frigid air numb his cheeks and freeze the burning in his eyes.

 

Little sips of cold air to clear his mind and gain back his composure before anyone could see he felt like paper thin, brittle glass.

 

 By the time he reached Basille’s house he felt close to normal, his eyes dry and his hands no longer shaking. He was glad he was meeting Bas first, who was oblivious 99% of the time and his boisterous, hyperactive attitude was always a welcome distraction and Lucas tried to channel his energy.

 

“LULU! Tonight is the night! The night Daphne and I hit it off! How do I look?”

Basille did a ridiculous twirl in the streets at they walked to the party to meet up with Yann and Arthur. Basille was sporting a sweater vest with argyle print and charcoal hound’s-tooth slacks paired with a monstrous pair of leather shoes. Lucas winced at the clash of colors and patterns.

 

“Did I miss the memo Basille? Why are you dressed as an 82-year-old golfing grandpa?” Basille huffed. “Lucas! It’s my preppy look. I know Daphne likes a well-dressed, sophisticated man so… Voila!” Basille slicked back his hair and straightened his collar before giving Lucas a critical eye. “By the way Lucas, you don't look too shabby yourself…. looking to score a date with a certain handsome transfer student?” Basille wagged his eyebrows.

Lucas immediately deflected. “I don't know what you’re talking about… but you should know that Daphne told me once that she hates argyle… she said it reminds her of her dead grandpa.”

 

Basille gasped. “You lie!” Lucas sniggered. As the two boys bickered and playfully shoved one another, they heard the boom of distant music and the thrum of chatter and excitement in the air that could only be associated with Mikael’s infamous house parties. Mikael was Alex’s friend who had graduated a year ago. Tall, dark and handsome, from the few times Lucas had met him, he had been nice enough, but Lucas remained wary of his dark, penetrating eyes.

 

As Basille and Lucas rounded the corner of the street they heard the names being called. “Basille! Lucas!” Arthur came bounding up to them like an excited puppy as Yann trailed behind sedately. “Did you bring the weed Baz!” Lucas rolled his eyes at the two boys hyping each other up and smiled at Yann who reached over to mess up Lucas’ hair and paused as he looked at Lucas closely.

 

“You are doing alright Lucas?” Yann was always far too perceptive for Lucas’ liking sometimes. He had sixth sense when it came to Lucas’ mood and carefully hidden secrets. Lucas put on a face of cool nonchalance. “Fine. Ready to have some fun.” Yann didn’t look convinced, but he thankfully didn’t push. “Ok… Let me know if you want to call it an early night… I don’t mind because I have to wake up early tomorrow to work on a stupid group history project… you can sleep over too. My mom keeps going on and on about _When is that lovely, polite Lucas going to come over again…. ya da ya da ya da._ I swear she loves you more than me sometimes.”

 

Lucas laughed and scoffed. “Well that’s not hard to believe. I am more lovable than you.” Before Yann could swat him, Baz called out.

 

“Yo Lucas! It’s your turn to hold onto the weed for tonight. Yann’s mother nearly flayed him alive the last time she found the stash in his room and Arthur and I already did our duties so its your turn to be the drug mule.”

 

 Lucas heaved a dramatic sigh and held out a hand for the small bag of pot.  “Give it here.” With a pocket of weed and anticipation building to see a blue-eyed boy, Lucas mentally prepared himself and entered the party with his friends.

 

~

 

Lucas had lost sight of his friends within what felt like seconds of entering into the jam-packed house – Yann probably making a beeline to Chloe and Arthur distracted with helping Basille woe Daphne. Lucas’ eyes strained to see Eliott amongst the crowds but so far…. Nothing.

 

Lucas’ anxiety decided to rear its gorgon head. His heartbeat began to accelerate, and he was helpless to stop the tightening feeling in his chest, as if his ribcage had suddenly shrunk two sizes. As Lucas navigated the sea of people he didn’t recognize, trying to quell the rising tide of _iwantogohome iwantogohome_ , he heard a familiar laugh. Lucas turned and saw a glimpse of Alex, surrounded by his usual deadbeat friends Lucas tried to avoid.  At this point though, any familiar face was welcome, and Lucas started to make his way towards him. Raucous laughter and voices brought him up short.

 

“Alex did you invite Lucas?”

“Yea of course, he and his guys always have the supply of weed.”

“Good, make sure you get it soon… I’m getting bored.”

 

Lucas clenched his fists and seethed.

 

~

 

As soon as Lucas saw Alex alone, his friends grabbing drinks, Lucas grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him into a quiet corner.

“You needed me for some fucking pot Alex?! Lucas hissed, pissed off and already feeling the familiar pangs of regret and insecurity arise.  Why was he even surprised?

“No, Lulu I swear. I wanted to hang with you… the weed was just an added bonus ok? You need to chill out and get the stress out of your system. I mean look at you! You look like you’ve barely slept in the week and c’mon I’m not an idiot. I know where you got those bruises from. The weed is also for you ok? Come here.” With his inhibitions lowered by alcohol and looking contrite, Alex pulled Lucas by the waist closer to him. “Come on lets get fucked up tonight. Live a little Lucas.” His hand slipped into the back pocket of Lucas’ jeans where the packet of weed was and stayed there – teasingly.

 

Lucas lit up his self-hatred with a lighter and inhaled the fumes of the blunt, the taste of liquor burning on his lips, to forget everything if only for a few hours.

 

~

 

The deep percussion of the bass from some frenetic, indecipherable hip-hop song seemed to reverberate and rattle Lucas’ very bones. Lucas tipped his head back and smiled, losing himself to the beat and the writhing throng of dancing bodies around him, that pressed against him rhythmically, making him feel like he wasn’t so utterly alone… like he was part of one giant, pulsing heartbeat.  When Lucas opened his eyes, he caught flashes of Alex dancing tantalizingly close to him, brushing a hand across his chest, an arm briefly pressed against his biceps – but always still so far, conscious of the eyes around them.

 

Suddenly, Lucas heard a whisper in his ears, low and rough. “Come on, let’s go upstairs.” Lucas felt his head nodding belatedly. Lucas was beginning to feel disconnected from his body and kaleidoscopic flashes of color sparked across his vision… Maybe he was drunker than he realized. He had downed the drinks Alex had passed to him without the usual restraint he practiced (Lucas normally refrained from drinking… the thought of his father passed out on his couch and whisper of _father like son_ a deterrent enough).

 As Alex pulled him demandingly by the wrist to the stairs, probably seeking out the shameful quiet of an empty bedroom, indigo flashed across his vision and Lucas remembered blue, crinkly eyes and a beaming smile. Eliott.

“Wait Alex.” Lucas slurred his words, drunk and high and confused. “I’m waiting for Eliott. I have to give him his jacket. I need to wait for him” Alex rolled his eyes, impatient and with one thing only in his mind.

“Lucas give it to him later. You can always hand it over another time.”

“No” Lucas said stubbornly, the alcohol and weed making him petulant. “I want to see him. I told him I’d see him”

Alex huffed and grabbed his wrist. “No I don’t want to Alex –  “ Careless and clumsy, Alex’s hand was becoming a bruising manacle around his injured, bandaged one as he impatiently yanked Lucas along. The pain grounded him, woke him from brain-addled state in a flash of adrenaline, and he dug his heels in as Alex dragged him to the empty landing of the stairs.

 

“What the fuck Alex?” Angry, flashing eyes. Blue freezing to ice. Lucas heaved a sigh of relief as everything seemed to slow down and speed up. Eliott.

 

Eliott shoved his quickly way between Lucas and Alex and glared Alex down. “Are you deaf, he said he doesn’t want to go with you.” Tension sparked and caught alight. Alex’s eyes hardened.

“Piss off Eliott, it’s none of your business. Or would you like me to tell Lucas exactly why you left the previous school?” Alex’s voice was full of venom. Eliott made a movement to Alex but before blows could potentially be traded Lucas’s mind belatedly decided now would be a perfect time to intervene.

“Guys, guys, guys! I’m Switzerland!” Lucas snickered as he saw Eliott’s face blur in and out of focus. “Get it?! I’m neutral! So as long as I am between you and Germany over there, there can be no World War III! Only peace and love.” Lucas giggled and tugged on Eliott’s sleeve, feeling like he was simultaneously floating and falling.

Eliott looked truly furious now, turning to Alex. “Does he know you spiked his drink with something?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. He just said he wanted to relax...” Alex stepped closer to Eliott a smug, suggestive leer crossing his face. “And I know how to make him relaxed –good and proper.”

Eliott clenched his jaw and was so close to making Alex _hurt_ , when there was another demanding tug on his sleeve and a giggle. Lucas smiled hazily up at him. Eliott couldn’t help but soften, the fury draining out of him. ““I have your jacket! Can we go eat cereal?” Lucas was clearly out of it. Eliott brushed the hair out of Lucas’ bright eyes and felt the heat of his flushed cheeks. “Sure thing Lucas.”

Eliott turned to Alex. “And fuck you Alex. I’m taking Lucas with me, he needs to sober up. Say what you want about me too… I don’t care. But maybe the rest of the school would like to know how much of a desperate, closeted guy you are that you will resort to drugging up people.”

With that, Eliott shouldered past a fuming Alex, Lucas hand in is.  

 

 

~

 

 

Lucas felt fantastic. No, marvelous.  He had energy thrumming in his veins and his head felt spacey… in a good way. Light and airy, like he was soaring above everything. The best part of it all though, was the warm hand clasping his.

“Eliott! Let’s go buy some cereal right now! Then we should go to a movie. No, nevermind. I’ve changed my mind I’m hungry. Can we go get some pizza? Then we should go see the new Avengers move that’s out. I want to see Chris Hemsworth… He’s almost as handsome as you are.” Eliott laughed and his eyes did their crinkly thing that made Lucas feel warm inside.

Lucas knew he was spewing out whatever came to his mind without a filter, but he couldn’t stop. He felt loose and comfortable, like he could say or do anything.  

Eliott listened to Lucas’ babbling patiently, secretly amused by how adorable and uncharacteristically excited the small boy was acting. “Um Lucas, how about we go for a walk and get some fresh air first? I think you need it.” Eliott stroked Lucas’ hand, like he was calming him down. It felt good.

Lucas nodded enthusiastically, his mind fixated on Eliott, willing to do anything the boy suggested. “Yes! Good idea. Lets go.”

 

~

 

They ended up at the park, sitting at the bench Lucas was so well acquainted with. It was a cold but clear night, not a cloud in the sky to obscure the bright moon. Lucas’ high had faded to a faint buzz and he was beginning to feel the faint stirrings of exhaustion slow his body and thoughts down to a snail’s pace. It was always like this. The blissful high and oblivion over too soon.

As Eliott lit up a cigarette, Lucas studied the boy’s face, watching the small glow of light from the rollup cast shadows on the sculpted planes of his face. Eliott’s brow was furrowed and he looked… agitated. Abruptly, Elliot turned to him. “You shouldn’t hang with Alex. I know him ok? He’s not… not a good guy. You deserve better.”

“No I don’t.” Lucas said glumly, eyes cast to the ground. “What?”

“I don’t deserve better.”

Fingers tilted his chin up to meet an unwavering, steely gaze.

“You’re an idiot if you think that Lucas.”

Lucas scoffed, annoyed. “You don’t even know me, Eliott. I could be horrible, messed-up person and you wouldn’t know.”

“I don’t have to know you to know that you’re nothing like Alex and… well I don’t know you, but I’ve seen you around. You’re quiet but you like to have a good laugh when you’re with your friends. You like to eat chocolate because I’ve seen Imane bribe you with Ferrero Rocher. You like to read astronomy books in the library, and you don’t get a lot of sleep judging by the dark circles under your eyes. You come out here a lot to just think and I know there’s something that’s always at the back of your mind – bothering you. You have that look in your eyes. In conclusion, you are not horrible, just maybe sleep-deprived and a little grumpy… and I would like to get to know you more.

Lucas breath caught and he looked down to hands. He traced his broken looking wrists and hands –supernovas of bruises and constellations of cuts marring them – mulling over Elliot’s observations. He was suddenly painfully shy, acutely aware now of how much the boy beside him actually paid attention to him.

 Lucas felt a wave of exhaustion take hold of him. His brain still foggy and his tongue still loose from all the alcohol and god know’s what he had consumed, Lucas decided to use Eliott’s shoulder as a pillow. He rested his heavy head against his sturdy shoulder and heard a sharp intake of breath from Eliott.

 “Can we go back to your place? I don’t want to see my dad. He might get angry if he sees me drunk and high… which is quite hypocritical seeing as I can’t remember the last time when he wasn’t drowning himself in booze.” Lucas continued softly, “I don’t like it when he get angry… he’s scary.”

Lucas looked up and met blue eyes that were staring intently down at him. Eliott looked worried. Lucas wondered why. “Lucas is that what happened to your wrist.” Eliott gently touched his hand and traced the mottled bruises on it before resting on the bandage. “Did he get angry and do this?” Lucas backpedaled. “No, no, no. Not at all. I fell. Well, he pushed me, but it was accident ok? He didn’t mean too.”

“He pushed you.” Eliott repeatedly blandly. “By accident,” Lucas retorted back stubbornly. Eliott heaved a sigh and looked grave. “Lucas…”

“I’m fine.” Lucas sat up and looked into Eliott’s eyes defiantly, trying to convey that he was fine and that the last thing he needed was some misplaced form of pity. Lucas jolted when Eliott reached one hand to gently cup the side of his face, stroking the skin beneath his eye placatingly. “Okay. But if something happens like this again, if something “accidentally” happens… you let me know right away.” Lucas nodded dazedly, tongue-tied in the face of Eliott’s unabashed intensity and attention.

 

After a beat, Elliot changed the conversation. “Hey – why do you like the space so much? I heard from Daphy that you work at the planetarium on the weekends… and I’ve seen you reading those books or sometimes out here… stargazing.” Lucas grinned softly, almost sadly.

 

“What’s not to like? You look up at the sky and there’s like another universe above us that we know so little about… a cosmos full of possibilities and planets and stars. Plus, I think it’s beautiful… the number of galaxies and supernovas and cosmic phenomena all above our heads as we go about our boring daily lives. A star could be exploding, wiping out all the planets near it, and I could be writing my math test. There could be parallel universes out there too… when I come out here to look at the stars, I imagine that millions and millions of light years away there are other alternate worlds similar to mine but different. In them there are countless of Lucas.’ Lucas number 400 could be accepting the Nobel Peace Prize in literature for writing a modern masterpiece... or Lucas number 350 could be chilling on a beach in Hawaii with a sangria in hand. Space contains all of these worlds and secrets and possibilities… it’s comforting and I think it’s wonderful… my… my  mom used to think so too.”

 

Lucas trailed off, suddenly self-conscious.

Elliot was looking at him with a secret smile playing at the corners of your lips and _that_ look in his eyes. “You’re really amazing, you know that Lucas?” Lucas butted his head against Eliott’s shoulder and hid his face in awkwardness and whined, “I’m not… I know I am a bit of a space nerd… it’s a bit embarrassing.”

“I think it’s cool. You’re cool… even cooler now that you started watching Game of Thrones and I know you like the Avengers. We’re going to have to have a GoT and Marvel marathon.” Lucas smiled sleepily in assent and Eliott messed up his hair fondly. “You’re so sleepy… close your eyes for a bit, I don’t mind.”

As Lucas leaned his head again against Eliott’s shoulders, tired and overwhelmed, the soft breaths of Eliott lulled him into a drowsy state of peace. He closed his eyes imagined the beautiful tendrils of light and stardust that made up the Pillars of Creation surrounded Lucas and Eliott, encasing them as they created their own, intimate universe of secrets shared and glances stolen.

Before he drifted off, Lucas thought he heard a gentle whisper.

 

 

_Eliott number 1 think Lucas number 1 deserves the universe…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m a bit of a space nerd myself… hence the whole theme of space driving this story. If you haven’t noticed already, the chapters are named after the phases of the moon, paralleling Lucas’ whole development throughout this fic. I also encourage you to look at the photo of the Pillars of Creation, I think they're beautiful.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! <3


	8. Full Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmares, poetry, and piano: 
> 
> "You are beautiful and your music reminds me of the three most important notes in this world."

Lucas spat out blood. It was everywhere – congealing on the walls, seeping through the sheets he was on, turning white into a Rorschach test of dread, staining his hands crimson. He couldn’t move. He was cold. Wracked with shivers and immobilized he lay – entombed in blood.

He was going to die.

 

“Lucas.” He turned to see an ashen face, exsanguinated and haunting.

 

He screamed.

 

 

~

 

 

“Lucas.”

 

“Lucas! Wake up! It’s okay.”

Lucas jolted up, heart pounding and head still ringing with screams. His hands were clammy and when he closed his eyes tightly all he could see was  _red red red_.  

He didn’t realize he was gasping, breathless with fear until warm arms wrapped themselves around his torso, pressing him to a chest from which Lucas could hear and feel the measured heartbeats of someone calm, steady… grounding.

“Hey hey. Lucas you’re okay. Deep breaths. You were just having a nightmare.”

“Hey look at me.” Lucas looked and met Eliott’s eyes and something in them, something so soft and understanding just broke something inside of Lucas.  _An iron hammer to a rusty lock._   

Lucas couldn’t help the strangled sob that escaped him. He buried his head against a sturdy chest as he tried to bury the images splashed across his eyes behind shoddily constructed walls. His heart clenched in his chest as his body wracked with sobs.  _Why did it still hurt?_

Eliott just held him.

He rubbed a soothing tattoo of comfort across Lucas’ back, silent and reassuring. After a while, the earthquake in Lucas started to subside to reasonable tremors and the flood of hot tears in his eyes slowly trickled off. Lucas took a deep breath and reluctantly pulled back from the warm embrace to look at Eliott and take stock of his surroundings. He jolted, confused.

 

“Where am I again?”   

 

Eliott smiled crookedly. “I’m not surprised you don’t remember… you were semi-unconscious and a bit delirious from all the drinking…” Eliott’s face darkened, “and whatever Alex slipped you. After you woke up from your little impromptu nap at the park, you insisted that you come back to my place to watch Game of Thrones. I helped you here… after arriving you decided to test out I quote the “comfort features of my bed,” after which you promptly passed out.”

Lucas groaned in embarrassment. Eliott laughed but then sobered up, looking at Lucas with those perceptive, careful eyes of his. “It’s about 3 am now. I was sleeping on the couch when I heard… I heard you screaming Lucas. It scared me to death, I’m not going to lie.” Eliott paused to gently touch the wetness that still clung to Lucas’ lashes.  “Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it? You kept repeating something… something about blood.”

Eliott was earnest and grave, all worry and care and no judgement. Lucas wanted to disappear. He hated the bitter aftertaste of fear in his mouth and the embarrassment of being like a child still terrified of and conquered by his nightmares. “Don’t worry. I’m ok… I just get weird fucked up dreams when I drink too much. Nothing to worry about. And I’m sorry for waking you up and making you sleep on the couch… I’m really not setting a good impression.”

Eliott didn’t look convinced. “I don’t care about sleeping on the couch Lucas… what I care about is the fact something was so upsetting to you that it left you shaken and like… like this. What I care about is you.”

Lucas flinched, so unused to this level of worry and half disbelieving of Eliott’s sweet, sweet words. But his walls were insurmountable tonight.

“Thanks Eliott. Truly.” He met Eliott’s eyes and tried to hide his vulnerability, tried to school his features into unaffected guardedness.

“It’s just something that happened a long time ago… but I’m tired Eliott. After everything tonight… would you mind if I crashed here more and slept for a bit?”

Eliott looked like he wanted to say more, but the dark circles under Lucas eyes and the heavy slump of his shoulders made him bite his tongue in restraint. “Why are you even asking Lucas, of course! You still look exhausted. I’ll let you get some shut eye.” Eliott made to stand up from the bed.

 

“Wait!” Before his brain could catch up with his body, Lucas had already latched one hand on Eliott’s wrist.

“Wait.” Lucas said softly, hardly a wisp and barely able to make eye contact with Eliott.

“You don’t have to go? It is your bed after all. I should be the one sleeping on the couch not you. Please… please don’t go.”  _I don’t want to dream alone._  Lucas berated himself immediately; he didn’t mean for the plaintive tone or the soft, almost desperate bite to his last words that slipped like poison out of his mouth.

 Eliott just looked at him quietly. “I would never leave unless you wanted me too.” With that, he grabbed a spare pillow from the closet and settled beside Lucas, slipping beneath the covers. Hyper-aware of the Eliott’s presence beside him, Lucas expected to be too nervous and amped up to sleep. However it was quite the contrary. Eliott radiated heat and Lucas unconsciously curled closer, at ease and so, so, tired.

 

Lucas for once fell asleep not to hurtful crimson, but to the soft  _inhale exhale inhale exhale_  of a beautiful boy beside him who unfathomably, inconceivably cared.

 

 

~

 

When Lucas woke again it was to the warmth of sunlight streaming across his face and the coldness of an empty bed. Lucas groaned; his head pounded viciously. Drinking and smoking and having an emotional breakdown was never a good combination for Lucas. For a moment Lucas just lay there, bundled in the soft brown duvet that smelt of Eliott – woodsy and warm. It was still early out; Lucas listened to the medley of bird calls and chirping that blended together into one chorus that to Lucas seemed obscenely joyous.

 Lucas braced himself. He stretched and winced, feeling the soreness of a body stressed and overworked. His hand brushed against a scrap of paper on the pillow next to him and he brought it to his face, squinting with sleepy eyes.  

 

_“Went to get breakfast. I ran out of cereal and didn’t want to subject your taste buds to my cooking. Be back soon Sleeping Beauty ;) – Elliot”_

 

Lucas smiled at the note and the little sketch at the corner – a tiny hedgehog with a crown of quills that Lucas immediately recognized as akin to his own untameable locks of hair. The little spiky creature was perched atop a small planet— comets and stars and the rings of Saturn encircling it. The giddiness that spread across his body, made him feel airy and light, until a shadow abruptly fell across his happiness.

 

Last night.

 What a mess. Lucas had vague, shadowy memories of the stuff he had spewed out about his father… not to mention the mortifying nightmare. Why was it becoming a trend that Eliott saw him at his most pitiful – at his most vulnerable? For so long Lucas had learned to keep his emotions and unwanted memories at bay. He detested defencelessness – after everything he had been through, trust was not something he believed was easy currency. So, he kept everything behind barriers and walls, his secrets and feelings resting within nested little matryoshka dolls – innumerable defenses, one after the other. But, with Eliott, hairline fractures and cracks were appearing. Eliott obliterated all his pretenses and Lucas still wasn’t sure what to feel about it.

As Lucas felt his hungover brain slowly reboot, he surveyed Eliott’s room curiously. It felt….   _earthy_  for a lack of better words. The walls were painted in muted taupe and covered in movie posters, framed pictures and artwork. An aloe vera plant in a robin’s egg blue pot sat on the bedside table. Lucas spied a small bonsai atop the windowsill. It was Zen and yet, at the same time, an organized space of chaos. It was the space of an artist, and it reminded Lucas a bit of a magpie’s nest… a treasure trove of odd nick knacks and carefully collected trinkets.  

Lucas smiled fondly at a Studio Ghibli poster of  _Spirit Away_  and traced with his eyes the scraps of doodles and sketches scattered around the walls. He stood to peer more closely at them. They were all of woodland creatures, but the predominant star was what Lucas thought was either a badger or racoon… his fuzzy brain couldn’t decipher which. Regardless, the small little sketches were endearing and Lucas had the desire to rifle through the sketchbooks he saw piled on Eliott’s desk, wanting to see more of Eliott’s creativity, but he refrained, not wanting to be a snoop.

 

 ~

 

Lucas wandered through Eliott’s sunlit apartment that was small but had a comforting, lived-in quality to it. Little splashes of Eliott were everywhere – from the small, carefully tended to orchids and succulents Lucas spied throughout the place to the sun-faded movie posters of neo-noirs and cult classics – Chinatown, Blade Runner, The Outsiders, The Breakfast Club. A portrait on the wall displayed what must be Eliott’s family: two beaming parents and a beautiful younger sister… loving, stable.

What drew Lucas’ attention though was the grand piano in the corner of the living room. It’s polished maple wood and ivory keys seem to gleam in the sunlight, beckoning Lucas over.

Lucas surveyed the music books nearby.

_Rachmaninoff, Beethoven, Liszt, Prokofiev, Debussy._

_Für Elise, Concerto no. 2, op. 18, Dance of the Knights,_ _Rêverie_

Lucas snorted when he came across the “Star Wars: The Greatest Hits” and imagined Eliott hammering out the bombastic tune of the space opera upon his piano in the morning, much to the chagrin of his neighbours.

Lucas looked at the piano and felt a pang of longing. He saw his mother – saw spectral notes echoing and floating in the air, rising and building, building to a crescendo. One wall broke inside of him and he couldn’t resist.

Lucas sat at the piano, raised his fingers tentatively to the keys, closed his eyes and started to play.

 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - = - - - - - - - - - - - - - = - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - = - - - - - - - - - - - - -

 

**~ Elliot ~**

 

 As Elliot perused the aisles of the grocery store, his mind was half-preoccupied with figuring out which cereal Lucas would prefer and half consumed with thoughts about said boy and the way he had looked when he was sleeping.

Lucas had looked peaceful. For the first time, Eliott saw no worries furrowing his brow, no eyes filled with indecipherable sadness, and no strained, forced smiles. Messy hair against sheets, long lashes, and full lips parted softly. Lucas had looked almost painfully beautiful and… innocent. A self-professed “disgusting” romantic to the core, Eliott was reminded of a Pre Raphaelite painting when he looked at Lucas – all elegant profile, fair skin and expressive eyes. Eliott had awoken to a warm weight tucked close to him; Lucas was sprawled across his chest, one of his hands tucked beneath his chin and the other wrapped almost possessively across Eliott’s torso. It had taken Eliott several minutes of admiring Lucas and clever maneuvering before he could actually extract himself from Lucas’ embrace.

 

Now, as Eliott debated between Lucky Charms and Cinnamon Toast Crunch, his thoughts still flitted to Lucas and the way he had looked when he had jolted awake. So scared and… forlorn, as if he expected to wake alone and deal with the aftermath of his night terrors alone.

Eliott wasn’t having it. He recognized that haunted look and the clumsily concealed bruises and the need to _deflect deflect deflect_. Lies and convenient excuses because being alone at least guarantees no one can hurt you further. Eliott had been there, had _felt_ that, but knew that holding everything in and letting nothing out never led to anything good. He knew that darkness was resilient and inevitable, but it was rarely a permanent fixture when you just _opened_ yourself up.

When he looked at Lucas, he saw a bit of himself and surge of protectiveness. It was with a renewed resolve to just _be there_ for Lucas that drove Eliott to plan something special for the day – something that he knew would bring one of Eliott’s favourite sights.

 

A small, almost secretive smile that would cross Lucas lips, as beautiful and unassuming as the sliver of a crescent moon.

 

~

 

When Eliott returned to his flat, he heard the faint strains of music.

 

The music rose and fell, a refrain so poignant and haunting and familiar that Eliott followed it dazedly to the living room.

 

Eliott froze time. He was watching a boy who sat at a piano, poised gracefully over the keys. The sunlight made a lucent silhouette of him, casting shadows in his cheekbones, in the hollows beneath his eyes. He was marble and silence and peace.

 

Eliott let time breathe again. Lucas was playing, his fingers dancing across the white and black keys, his eyes closed. The sunlight illuminated him, made him even more radiant. The notes he played were nostalgia and rainy days and forgotten afternoons of half-remembered conversations that were infinitely precious. The music Lucas inhaled an exhaled so easily was the beginning and end of a story that Eliott thought he knew, and if he didn’t, wanted to know –intimately and unreservedly until all the sentences, all the notes became familiar footsteps.

 

 

 

When the last note faded languidly and Lucas’ fingers stilled, Eliott’s cleared his voice. Lucas whirled around, startled, eyes wide and liquid.

 

Eliott had no words to describe what he was feeling… what he thought of the music, and most importantly, what he thought of the boy in front of him. All he could say were the insufficient words: “Lucas that was beautiful.”

 

_You are beautiful and your music reminds me of the three most important notes in this world._

_I Love You._

Lucas looked shyly down, humble. “Thank you, it’s one of my favorites songs… my mom taught it and it’s stayed with me over the years, even though I never really play piano anymore. I forgot how peaceful and… and cathartic it is. I always forget, in the moment of the song, where I am and whatever is worrying me. I know I’m creating music, but it’s blissfully silent when I am, like I’m in space”

 

Lucas immediately blushed and fidgeted with his hands as he avoided Eliott’s eyes, clearly embarrassed for revealing his thoughts. Eliott’s heart hurt… those little moment when Lucas doubted himself, when he exposed his insecurities, made him want to wrap Lucas up in a blanket of appreciation and compliments.

 

Eliott strode to Lucas, depositing the Cinammon Crunch Toast atop the piano as he plopped down beside Lucas. He couldn’t help but reach out to touch Lucas’ hand. “You’re surprising Lucas… in the best possible way. I also like to play to drown out my thoughts. Do you know Heart and Soul? Hoagy Carmichael?”

 

Lucas looked at him, eyes warm, appreciative and what Eliott treasured infinitely – trusting. He nodded.

 

“Let’s play a duet, shall we?”

 

 

 

~

 

Eating sugary sweet cereal and whiling away the morning hours with laughter and playful melodies, Lucas fell deeper as bit by bit he learned more about what made Eliott, Eliott. The blue eyes, handsome features, and artfully messy hair that could mislead you, could make you fall for that stereotype that beautiful people were often all polished surfaces with no extraordinary depths or myriad facets. Eliott’s beautiful exterior contained a sweet, caring boy who cracked bad jokes and couldn’t resisting throwing in obscure movie references that Lucas never got. A boy who was compassionate and always attune to the emotions of those around him. A boy who was thoughtful and who would go out of his way to help another broken, lonely boy.

 

A boy Lucas saw all the Lucas’ in all of the universes falling for.

 

~

 

Drinking bitter, rich coffee and whiling away the morning hours with soft glances and snippets of childhood stories, Eliott fell deeper as bit by bit he learned more about what made Lucas, Lucas. The shy, introverted, almost self-deprecating front could mislead you, make you believe that the boy was naturally aloof, standoffish, and prickly. Lucas’ sad eyes and dark circles contained a loving, sensitive boy who cried to see those he loved hurt. A boy who loved fiercely and was unwaveringly loyal to his friends. A boy who thought of the most beautiful, intriguing things that ignited Eliott’s sense of wonder. A boy who believed in parallel universes and shooting star wishes and a father’s love.

 

A boy Eliott saw all the Eliott’s in all of the universes falling for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Riopy’s I Love You fades softly away…   
> I hope you liked this chapter and have a peaceful, beautiful day or night wherever you are.


End file.
